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‘Butterfly’s Grave.’

Kitty Silk crept along a narrow road by a riverbank as the late twilight of the day started to set. It wasn’t fully dark yet, but she figured it was good enough; after all, her patience had grown thin, her visits had become more frequent, and her pale expression had become even more wary. Everyone that Kitty was close to had suddenly stopped being there, but that had a lot to do with her own conscious behaviour; she had even stopped being social, stopped wearing bright colours, hell, she hadn’t even smiled since-

But it was also in response to what the surrounding people had said. Even her own mother’s ‘advice’ on grieving was met with a turned ear; she would not bend to whatever rituals or ancient traditions lay on old pages meant to get her through the worst possible thing that anyone could go through: losing someone. Kitty’s stomach turned as she tried not to look at the flowing water of the river; she had only managed to eat an egg today, but she ignored the hunger and continued.

As Kitty approached the rusty gate of Harlow Cemetery, a small burst of panic hit her. She quickly removed her dark veil so she could see better, scrambling to the lock as her fingers twitched and trembled, fiddling with the door, but it didn’t budge. Instead, it made a loud but eerie creaking sound as she buried her head between the metal and then between her own hands. There was rustling behind her due to the wind, but Kitty knew it was just the dark oak tree that lay across the lane. It was tall and dead, always taunting her when she struggled, as if the cracks within the wood resembled little smiles, evil ones, laughing at her. But Kitty then remembered the mistake she sometimes made: sometimes the side of the gate just needed a harsh push against the gravel, although she tended to forget this when she was blinded by the feelings she had when coming here. Sure enough, it finally budged as she put her shoulders into it, and then she slipped inside the graveyard, stepping across dirty stones overgrown with moss. The reason she could enter this late was a secret between her and the groundskeeper. She would leave him some Werther’s soft caramels in a hole beside the cobblestone wall whenever she left, and hope it wouldn’t be swarmed by caterpillars by the time John would leave the gate unlocked the day after. It was seemingly unspoken, but they had discussed this in tear‑filled conversations weeks prior; he would always be chewing those things, so it seemed like a fair trade, even if he didn’t truly know why she needed to come here so late anyway. John was his name, or at least that’s what Kitty called him in her mind; it stood for John Doe. She knew little about him, and that’s how she liked it. His dog, a highland terrier named Spike, was often by his side. There was a deep love between them, and it made Kitty think of the one name drowning inside of her brainwaves, clinging to memory. She would never let him go.

A beautiful butterfly fluttered close by as she made her way across the grass. It seemed fitting, as they had become her favourite insect, only it was bizarre that they were around at this time, seeing as they are diurnal, meaning they are daytime‑active. She had read about it when withdrawing books from the local library, right after she had promised her mother she was going to borrow some books about grieving; she never did, so instead butterflies became her obsession.

“Never seen an American moth‑butterfly before?” A deep voice asked from across her path.

John must have caught her staring. Kitty shook her head but was visibly frustrated, her wrinkled brow creasing even more than it usually did across her old skin. Of course, it was a moth‑butterfly; she figured, how had she not figured that out after all her research?

“I prefer the normal ones.” She snapped irritably.

“But I never see you wear any bright colours, well-”

He took a deep puff from his silver pipe while scratching his very stereotypical beard. It was almost comical that he didn’t have a big Rottweiler or something, but Spike seemed happy enough to be there, sniffing by his large boots until he lost interest in the scent.

Kitty was getting sidetracked too. Time to go.

“Don’t forget my Werth‑” John Doe called after her as he fiddled with a packet in his coat pocket.

She had forgotten it a few times, but who was he to argue with a widow in grief? She was all dressed in black as usual, to celebrate another nightly visit. John coughed slightly before taking a sweet into his mouth; he wasn’t always a very particular person, otherwise he might have been more curious about the woman as she hurried off to her favourite gravestone of the mysterious ‘Ron Lowe’. The only tomb in the place without a single flower laid atop it, a lonely grave with only one visitor.

Kitty was glad to notice he wasn’t following her as she arrived at where she both hated and loved to be. She thought about what she had read that day; the third stage of a butterfly’s life is called a pupa. It’s the whole cocoon phase, a dark and gloomy setting until the ultimate transformation, or something like that. Maybe there would be a day that Kitty would wear bright colours again, go out, have fun, maybe she would shine brighter than ever, and maybe she would fly again. It wasn’t impossible, but instead it felt highly improbable. Another gust of air hit the fence beyond the hill she had ascended. A cold night was approaching, and her black dress wouldn’t be enough to protect her, but once again, she didn’t much care, and it was likely that she never would. Kitty’s movements were stiff as she crouched down, pressing a pale palm against the headstone to feel the moisture, a connection almost to who lay below.

“Here.” John’s gruff voice mumbled as he approached from behind her, startling the woman so much that she fell right against the flowery stone.

“That’s far enough.” Kitty said sourly.

Her tear‑stained face was now visible in the orange allure of the lantern he had placed in front of her before he slowly backed away with raised arms. Spike was nowhere to be seen this time.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am. You usually bring your own.”

He was right; Kitty was making mistakes again, regressing. She started to well and truly doubt that her transformation would ever come if it kept going like this.

“Thank you.”

She quickly grabbed a pack of Werthers from her small, grey handbag, holding them out to him.

“Truth be told-” John started.

“If I may-”

His politeness irritated Kitty.

“You may.”

The scruffy man hesitated before taking the packet.

“I prefer the originals.”

He smiled before trotting off, knowing there was probably no way to put a smile on the widow’s face.

The hours passed as Kitty lay against the light. It must’ve looked strange how close to the ground she was sprawled out, thinking, then crying, then thinking again, feeling all the pain that loss had to give in the light of the flame which danced alongside her, as if it was enjoying the way she suffered.

When Kitty was young, her mother had told her about her overactive imagination, how she would see magic in the most ordinary of things, like clouds fighting each other as they crossed, and mountains kissing each other at their peaks. Now she wondered if she had ever really grown up, if she ever could be an adult when she sat like a child on a bed of dying flowers. It was ironically the best place they could live, on this gravestone, until nature reclaimed them. There was movement in shadows beyond her placement as her eyes darted to the left; there was another grave close by, which she had always kept an eye on, but this time something was behind it, munching or chewing on something. It smelt like- A wet dog appeared from behind the tomb. Spike must’ve slipped away from John some time ago, as his white fur was covered in mud and dirt. He was carrying a bone, too, probably from some kind of dead animal, but then again, this wasn’t the place to expect much life. But then it all really started to kick in: Spike was carrying a bone. A bone! Kitty crawled across hands and knees, feeling her dress tear at the jagged rocks beneath her as she lunged at the mongrel, attempting to pull the piece of cartilage from his mouth, but it was no use; Spike only saw it as a game. But then Kitty started to wail, an ear‑piercing scream of grief, causing Spike to whine before dropping the bone, and then she was cradling it while falling with her face to the ground across a small pile of picture frames and memorabilia.

“I’ll have to ask you to move from that grave, Ma’am.” John asked as he approached with another lantern.

Spike was back at his side as he hobbled with fear between the man’s large legs, camouflaged between his muddy dungarees.

“This-” Kitty pleaded as she held up the sharp piece that had once belonged to a living and breathing body.

“Coyote.” John Doe confirmed as he inspected it before offering her a rough and scarred hand, which she took, as he led her back to the tombstone where she had come from.

“Spike must’ve dug it up,” he muttered with a half‑smile.

“As for that grave, however, you seem to have cracked one of the portraits someone left for that poor boy. I can get it fixed, Ma’am, but it might be time you left for the night-” Kitty sighed loudly before trying to regain some composure.

She noticed she was trembling again, but she wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the emptiness inside of her, creeping through her insides as it burrowed through her blood. It was the same darkness that held her from sleeping, held her from eating, made her cry, made her miss, made her stow away in her own body as if she was illegal or something, like a passenger on a sinking boat. How long could she keep going like this? All of that magic her mother said she had, all of that creativity, the things she imagined, the songs she sang, the poems she wrote-they were all fading, becoming opposites to the beauty they were supposed to uphold, and all because of-

“That’s my son, I put the portrait there.” Kitty protested; she moved slowly into a new position as if she was about to pray, feeling blood on her knees from the torn dress while her thin face dropped in the light of the lanterns, which were now dancing with each other, grinning as they did so.

“These graves have different names on them, Ma’am, surely you aren’t related to both of them, unless you are, I mean- The thought just hadn’t crossed my mind, Ma’am-”

Kitty slammed a fist into a thin plate of stone, cracking it with a loud slam.

“Would you stop with the Ma’am? My name is Kitty Silk, and my son was David Silk. Ever wonder why this boy’s grave is filled with love and flowers and gifts, while this man, the man whose grave I sit by, why his is always empty? It’s because life isn’t fair.”

Spike had come closer in the meantime, licking her palms with a tight whimper.

“I’m not sure I follow, Ma’-Uhm, Miss Silk.”

She figured this must all be very confusing, so she apologised for her temper with raised hands, much like John had done earlier. For two strangers, they did mirror each other sometimes, as if the cemetery connected them in a way of peace, a silent understanding, like how butterfly wings are attached to the thorax, flexible membranes that work in tandem. Kitty wondered if that meant something—if John could help her learn to fly, if he could help her see. She wasn’t sure she was ready to explain herself more than she wanted to, but that might be the first step in a better direction, she figured, so she closed her eyes as she spoke.

“Ron Lowe, my husband, got into the car with David after we fought. He tried to take him away, he tried to take my son, my little butterfly, from me. And I said I hated him, I shouted it through the streets after him, I said I hated them both. So life took them both away from me. All it took was a storm and the car going a hundred miles an hour through a residential area; that’s all it was before they veered off into the riverbank across from here, as if they were trying to get her. Guess they got it. And I got what I deserved.”

Kitty opened her eyes as John didn’t reply. Even Spike had gone silent, and then she discovered why; they were both gone, poof, as if they had vanished just like that. She had never even heard them- There weren’t even any footprints, but how- The heavens bellowed above Kitty as she got to her feet, vowing to beat the rain as she took the lantern with her, still finding it strange that the others themselves had gone. She took a turn through a mess of trees as the downpour started, dampening her dark, torn dress as the morning shower came down alongside the breaking of the dawn. The colours were vibrant as she made it to the gate, but they were simple, paired with stormy clouds that clashed as if they were battling it out. Kitty was careful not to slip as she made it to the exit, skimming her heels across the wet stone before pulling the clasp in behind her across the bed of gravel as she closed it behind her, as the lock hung loosely on its side. Kitty felt tired and hungry; there wasn’t a better time to go home, but she still turned before she left, first taking a look at the riverbank before quickly walking across to the cobblestone wall that was scattered around the fence. She was disappointed as she felt for her grey bag but couldn’t find it; it must’ve been left on the gravestone, but then she noticed something lucky: there was already a Werther’s Original lying within the wall’s hole, a singular one, being munched on by a green little caterpillar. Kitty watched it for a moment, wondering how it would grow, which colours it would take on, and how high it would fly one day, once it truly became a beautiful butterfly.

‘Down They Go.’ 🎿

Jacob would never describe himself as someone who would easily find luck, but as I recall what he went through on the dawn of January first, it's the only word that fits. There was often something hidden under the smile that the teen wore, a proud but insecure look, as if it was to benefit others instead of himself, and that New Year’s night, he wore it high and loud, soaring above his friends, strangers, and lost souls who found themselves at the buzzing bar ‘The Hutch’.

“Seven?”

He repeated loudly over the vapid instrumentals of the live band, seeing the bar woman in a strange perspective because of his tacky sunglasses swinging off the bridge of his nose, ready to dive into the pint beneath him, presumably going for gold.

She nodded in response, not sparing Jacob any sympathy as the next customer swayed behind him.

“Extortion.”

He sighed before putting down some coins with the rolled-up banknote and adjusting the rim of his accessory before pawing at the drink, fidgeting slightly.

“But it’s a good number, so what the hell.”

She didn’t bother to thank him, it made Jacob’s mind wander as he would typically tell me, his overactive imagination held no bounds as he shifted back to the smoky corner of the pub, dodging a stumbling drunkard.

‘What took you so long?’

No one asked, Jacob’s friends were all too enthralled in whatever mockery they were making, conversations tied up in resolutions and past mistakes.

‘The barmaid was off it, she had long sleeves to cover up the hair growing on her arms, it was like being served by an alien in disguise!’

Jacob equally said to nobody, instead thinking up an absurd backstory for the girl for a lacklustre audience that consisted of only himself.

A pack of smokes lay before him, but he wasn’t sure whose they belonged to, so he subtly took one out and put it behind his ear.

Jacob then took a sip, only tasting foam, before peering back at the bar, rusty silhouettes melting into the brown oak interior of the place blocked his vision as patrons shuffled into a line of eagerness, but the barmaid was nowhere to be seen.

A thought made the teen realise that the long-suffering people in the row would probably be better off drinking from a nozzle, guzzling down whatever they would blindly be given while inserting their cone-shaped money into whatever would take it.

Jacob smiled to himself, but it was unlike the ones he usually wore. Instead, this one was genuine; he did find himself occasionally funny, even when I told him that his mind ran wild sometimes. I made sure to add that he should never change, and he agreed.

“-and he did! H-he kept betting on that beast for four weeks straight, following the races every day, chasing his own little carrot on a stick! Shame that old mongrel you used to have wasn't talented, eh, Jacob?”

Downes said, chuckling at the misfortune of his stepfather, and some aimed at his supposed friend.

“I don’t like political allegories.”

Jacob admitted hypocritically, staring blankly into the dark eyes staring back at him in a mist of confusion and bitterness around the table, only it was more like he was staring into the gaze of wolves, seemingly waiting for him to say something funny, as he would usually do, or else they would eat him alive, as if there was no other food left in the world.

“Excuse me.”

He said before exiting the booth and downing some of his drink, leaving a white fuzzy outline on his mouth, which at least stirred up some laughter, except Downes, who had his head tilted sternly before rummaging around in his coat pocket for something Jacob couldn’t see or couldn’t care less to.

It comes to mind when writing this that Jacob never much cared when he wasn't meant to, if this made him flawed or not would only remain a secret for us.

The bathrooms were, as you would expect, a mess. Maybe they would clean them next year, Jacob joked to himself. He wondered if the barmaid would have to, or maybe she was the type that would scurry her way out of jobs like that, leaving a newer coworker, maybe, to—

“Alright, Jake.”

It didn’t sound like a question as Downes positioned himself next to Jacob by the urinals, not leaving a space for any ghosts, as people tended to do; he tried to contain a twitch.

Jacob was taller than him, but Downes was older. He watched from the corner of his eye as the man fumbled for something in his pockets, sighing before slipping his fingers under his hat and pulling something out as if he had just remembered where it was.

“What’s that?”

Jacob asked innocently, just trying to be social enough so he could escape the confrontation.

“Magic.”

Downes chuckled, giving him a light shove which affected his aim; at least the barmaid would get out of having to clean it up. Jacob momentarily hesitated on doing so himself, but instead, he just wanted to leave.

“Jake?”

He asked, causing Jacob to flinch internally while turning around as he stood frozen at the tap, his hands ticking by the open stream of discoloured water as he chose to reply with only a nod.

“For luck.”

Downes said before crouching down and jamming something into his sock before patting it.

“Is that my smoke?”

He then added, but Jacob didn’t reply as he rushed out of there, noting how the smells changed as he left the room; now it was of a sour fog of vulnerability as he decided to go out through the backdoor, not looking back to see if Downes had followed him, clasping at his chest as a wave of palpitations took over, it was as if a monster or creature was about to burst out of his—

“Wow.”

The woman said as she leaned back against the brick wall, the cold hitting her freckles, as a redness arose that hadn’t been there before.

“With that expression, I’d think you work here. I try not to look at customers as if they’re wild animals, but sometimes it's just impossible.”

In the light of the alley, Jacob could make out that she was actually just a girl almost the same age as him; it was just her dull way of talking and monotone mannerisms that made her seem older. Later, as I wrote this down, I noticed how much Jacob really observed in those around him.

“Yeah, it’s like a sty in there.”

He replied, thinking that was the most normal thing he could say in response.

“Do you miss her?”

She asked, which suddenly made Jacob’s head turn, twitching slightly as his breathing steadied.

“What?”

“I said, do you live here?”

Jacob could taste a bit of irritation in her voice.

“In ‘The Hutch’?”

He said before he realised, this made her laugh as he realised she wasn't really doing anything out here except for avoiding her duties, maybe he was a better judge of character than he thought.

“Around here.”

He corrected himself while taking another breath.

“I guess so.”

The girl nodded with wide, brown eyes.

“I’m Hazel anyhow, from the Burrows up West, you might know it.”

Jacob shook his head.

“No- I mean yes, I’m from there actually.”

Before she could answer in her usual empty tones, he interjected with a question of his own, feeling as if he was coming off too boring himself.

“What are you hiding?”

Jacob didn’t think Hazel’s eyes could get any wider, but they did as she fiddled with the long sleeves of her dark work uniform.

“That’s none of your business.”

She snapped, seemingly in awe.

“I don’t mean- I just thought it would be an interesting question.”

Jacob noticed her eyes well up slightly as she moved down to her knees, but he didn’t feel much regret for his invasion of privacy. Maybe that’s just how he was wired, like a robot from the future, moving without emotion, or maybe he had just seen too much of this kind of stuff before.

“I lost someone!”

He added loudly, before sinking on the floor next to her.

“I did. I lost someone.”

“Do you want a tissue?”

She growled rudely, but ironically, it was this different tone that suddenly made her more interesting.

“Your glasses.”

Hazel then said weakly before accepting a tissue from Jacob, and not the other way around.

She was right, they had been on his nose before, but now—

“Do you want to talk about my glasses?”

Jacob asked.

“Do you want to talk about who you lost?”

Hazel fired back.

I always liked the fire she seemed to possess, even if Jacob didn't always see it, as in this instance.

“So they were surprisingly expensive—”

Jacob started with a smile that she decided to share.

“So is a pack of cigarettes these days, and I lost mine.”

“Take this one.”

He said, taking it out from behind his ear like some kind of trick as he ruffled his black hair into place.

“I don’t smoke anyway, I’m just—”

“A thief?”

She flicked her lighter as the flame between them waved in the breeze outside.

"Whatever you are, you're not the average bar hopper."

"Am I not animalistic enough?"

Jacob asked, his eyes pointed towards his shoes as he tried not to tap his toes.

"You're something alright."

Hazel inhaled tightly, letting the addictive medicine seep through the corners of her mouth. Jacob imagined the smoke arising from every crevice on her head, steam blowing out of her ears like an old cartoon, exaggerated drawings of real behaviour, of normal practices, hidden in the expression of an artistic creature.

"So, who did you lose? I tend to get too sensitively lost in things, but you were pretty calm about it. Did you just lose someone in the crowd?"

She was right, although he might've spoken louder than usual, the actual effect of it all was seemingly extinct to him, maybe luckily, so otherwise he would have to find a way to dim the pressure of it all.

"Something like that."

Jacob noted while counting the stars above them as they were seemingly listening in, seven little bumps in an inverted road of the night, shining as his world ticked by.

"Is it still okay if we don't talk about mine?"

He couldn't remember if he nodded or not as he was too busy imagining what was really going on up there, and if it was better than what was down here. Jacob contemplated sharing these bizarre fantasies with Hazel, but figured the stranger would be better off without.

"Damn it, my boss just texted."

Jacob subtly read the message over her shoulder.

'We're filling up again. I know you're having a tough one today, but we need you. Now, please, Hannah."

He wasn't sure if he really wanted to be alone again, but she was already on her feet.

"Meet you at the bar? Once you find your glasses, that is."

She smiled after their hands grazed, and the door shut behind her.

But Jacob didn't go back in.

Instead, he took the long way home, unaware if the year had passed yet, numb to any sounds. The walk was long, strange even, to the West on his bare feet, but it was only once he got close to his house that he found what he had lost: a little bunny that he used to own, peeking from a row of six or so bushes.

My name is Downes, and after Jacob told me this story in the little white room where he spent his final moments, I decided to pass it on, holding Lucky in my arms as I phoned the police, naming myself as the cause for why he went down the rabbit hole, while looking for the stars.

Between a Heart & a Hard Place 🪁

A crack in the wall, one of shattered brick, worn out and excluded from such privileges as basking in the sun. An honour only the other side of the plaster had, because they lay outside, fixated, & the crack lay in here with me, drooping. A cell, maybe, that’s what I would’ve called it at first. Probably because I didn't know any better, my legs did neither as I stretched them, watching dust particles float into my vision, halting occasionaly as if they had something to say. The fissure in the wall remained silent so it was only the vibrations of my breath to remind me this wasn't a dream. It continued so, the hush, until a faint barking beckoned me towards the only source of light, housed within that of which was broken. 

I laughed, strange considering my situation, while closing one eye to see better through the gap in the darkness, an oculus that could give an answer to my predicament. 

A short bark and heavy panting ensued as my vision was covered with that of a furry onlooker. The brightness outside was too strong to assess my surroundings and now I found my only path to answers blocked. I backed away at first, fearing the worst, but there was no bite, only a fitting bark. 

There was no judgement, no insult scarced away in the mongrel's eyes. They were dark but beaming, heavenly so. I had tried to remain my optimistic self as I stared it down, smiling, trying to regain the laugh I had come a hold of earlier but I soon found myself reeling in the opposite. The dog turned its head in reaction to this, as a singular tear formed within my left eye, strange as I felt more sadness in the other, though it wouldn't feel justified to cry from the 'right' one. I cleared my throat, regaining a cross-legged position on the cold, hard ground beneath me. My smile wouldn't return but I at least felt far removed again from a howling despair.

Another bark, a howl almost, how fitting. 

"I'm Al." My voice almost felt unfamiliar. "You must be.. Dog, I'm guessing." A grin was tempted to spread across my face like a bedsheet I so deerly missed or any other essence of comfort that had no desire to be here, a tempting thought but 1 I equally didn’t recognise, as if these memories weren’t even mine.

Bark.

Dog's nose was wet, his mouth... Smiling, almost. His fur was grey & white but he didn't seem old.

"Are you?" I asked, there was no reply. "Old, I mean."

Bark.

"Escape." I said under my breath, clenching & unclenching my stiff hands as the thought returned of what I could do with them.

"Get back, Dog." I demanded sharply, making a motion that resembled a wave. Dog sniffed at my hand, briskly, before retreating slightly. "Good boy." I smiled, welcoming the sensation for there was hope on my mind.

I fiddled with the hole slightly, wrapping my fingers around the corners and pulling to see if anything would give way.

Bark.

"I know, I know." I replied, stumped. "Leverage!" I announced a tad too loud, Dog whined in response.

Scrambling, was the best way to describe my following behaviour, feeling through the gloomy room for something, anything!

A sudden clank made me jump, Dog too for that matter; it was also a sound that resonated something greater, a result.

The pipe I had found was heavy and I soon realised my strength was weak, it seemed the grumbling sounds I had been hearing did not of Dog's making but my own. I licked the outlines of what should have been my lips, my mouth was dry too. I really needed to get out of here.

"Help me." I pleaded kindly.

Bark.

"That's very true, Dog. Loyalty is a virtue." I found myself wondering what virtues Dog beheld. Was he free? Was his master or mistress equally a friend or foe, were they responsible for my imprisonment? Why couldn't I remember?!

The hound was not too fond of the sound heard when dragging the pipe across the dirty floor but I had gathered all I could inside of me to prop it against the crack, pushing with all my remaining might to squeeze it through. Dog looked on, monitoring obediently like his kind usually did, the assumption left a poor taste in my mouth. This was going to work. I pushed further, pulled even harder, ramming the pipe into position as I desperately tried to escape. Dog seemed to follow suit as he grabbed the other end.

But then there was blood, and I was lying on my back. "Bad dog!" I cried with anguish, hope fading as fast as it arrived.

Seemingly offended, Dog left. 

"I'm sorry!" I cried.

But there was no bark in response this time. There was only myself, and a slightly bigger crack that lay here, alone, with me. 

His Name’s Molar 📼

“His name’s Molar.”

Podds muttered, doubting she would hear it as he took one last look back at the old shack on the hill before taking his path forwards, Micaela was waiting for him by the treeline ahead, an area he never had dared go alone before and that was for-

“-Due reason!” He spat loudly but it came out more like a drunken rambling.

“What now?” Micaela asked, leaning against a pine nonchalantly, pushing a silver lock behind her ear as she often did so I could see the fury in both of her eyes gleam off the setting sun beyond the nearest horizon.

“I don’t leave the house for due reason.” Podds declared, folding his arms fiercely while attempting to reenact her precociousness.

“So you’ve declared.” Micaela said with a roll of her eyes, reading hm completely.

“But we’re the last of the valley, and I don’t want to go it alone.”

She looked away while saying this but he was still surprised at her hushed vulnerability, her tonus coming more like a pull in the wind which beckoned him forwards.

“What do you think, Molar?” Podds asked with a newfound sense of security.

A small charcoal-coloured mole behind him sniffed around Podds’ boot before following the overgrown road.

“Smart rodent.” Micaela noted before heading into the shadows of Starwhisper Vale’s forests, she seemed pleased with herself that she was getting through to him, even if it had taken her the whole night. With the dawn breaking it was obvious she didn’t want to waste anymore time and Podds wasn’t exactly tempted to test her patience.

Molar sniffled again as he followed, if only he could talk, Podds thought, rather him than her.

As they set foot he was instantly greeted by a crimson leaf tumbling down swiftly onto his shoulderpad, surely a sign of the changing seasons & the times along with it.

“So this Mcguffin, this... Savvy thing-”

“The Savoir.” Micaela snapped while slapping a skinny branch out of her way.

“You said it can tell you any truth... What is it you so desperately want to know then?”

He heard her audibly sigh as he looked at Molar who was trailing along with his spade-like paws doing their natural duty & digging into the fine earth beneath the pines ever so often.

“The same as you I hope-” She seemed to say it with an intriguing smirk but wouldn't turn to let him see, he didn’t feel like he knew the girl yet but had a feeling this mysterious side to her would be a recurring theme on their journey.

“Ah yes, what luck that we have the common interest of searching for a fantasy object that can answer the age old question of ‘why are onions the epitome of evil’.”

I noticed her smirk go up in flames instantly.

“Our valley was destroyed by a Wind-Phoenix, kid. Thought you’d maybe want to know why.”

Her stance was more closed off now as she let her ringed fingers softly rub the freckles on her bare arms, they were lightly coloured & reminded him of constellations but more importantly of how he never went outside enough to see them with his bare eyes.

Podds wanted to apologise for being insensitive but he didn’t fancy a boring quest where they had to be emotional all the time, the thought of this being fun was almost the main reason he had even left his humble estate.

Molar was looking at me now as if he could read my mind, as if he knew I was describing my small shack on the hill as some kind of a castle.

I won’t tell if you won’t, he thought.

After what felt like an eternal awkward silence she seemed to have finally given in to the thought that this would be more entertaining if we at least tried to get to know eachother.

We had stopped at a rushing stream now as my furred companion hopped over to take a drink, I crouched along with him to scratch his little dark head.

“So you don’t like onions, huh?” Micaela asked while filling up a silver flask with a unicorn engraving on it.

“Just the thought brings tears to my eyes.”

She snorted at my response but it seemed more like it slipped out instead.

“Funny guy.” She mumbled before stepping over some damp stones with balance.

But this time, in the water’s reflection at least, I could see her smiling as if she actually meant it.

Podds wondered if that was a trait of hers too.

Molar was licking a patch of frosted grass now as it thawed before him, it was strangely symbolic.

“Very slow.. Walkers.”

The three turned slightly to where the wind-like words appeared, etching themselves into their eardrums with no apparent direction.

Molar scattered instantly as it was revealed through a layer of bubbles & a rising set of scales that seemed to be endless, causing patterned ripples in many colours.

“Faster.. Swimming.. Riding.”

The Water Snake’s mouth wasn’t visible yet as it dripped & shook off excess moisture, rising above them all while the flora in the creek was nudged aside.

“Cold, very, Cold!” Micaela muttered, mimicking the creature as she evaded a splash but still getting some of the spray on her tunic.

“Name.. Okurro.” It said, revealing a sharp layer of teeth, each set black & white like a bathing piano as it broke through the surface, gulping some of the stream up on its tongue.

Molar didn’t seem too afraid but still climbed up my belt to take place on Podds’ shoulder, I gave him a scratch of reassurance.

“Do you offer passage?" He then asked nicely.

Micaela snickered as Podds shot her a dirty look.

“You’ve really never been outside, have you? You sound like an old wizard, Kid.”

Molar nodded for some reason as she said this.

Podds could’ve said the same to her, noting a peculiar vial of something hanging from her bracelet which didn’t seem from this modern century at all.

“A beginner… Much fun to learn…” The deep voice echoed.

“Exactly!” Podds added, trembling slightly as he pushed his luck to place a hand on the creature’s snout.

“Where… Go...”

“The Chasm of Azriel.” Micaela declared, shoving me aside to place an emerald coin on the slimy beast’s forehead, its three eyes blinked simultaneously while brandishing a smirk.

“Waste… No time…” It replied as they tried their best not to slip while climbing across its huge husk but as Podds would later note it was the holding on that would be the hardest part as Okurro swallowed its payment & set off.

“You keep looking around.” Micaela noted a small while later, she was casually lying on her back while fiddling with her silver hair again but in the light of the rushing trees around them he could seemingly note a scar underneath her eye.

“Still waiting for the catch I guess.” Podds replied, he was still standing up, gaining some leverage by holding part of Okurro’s leaf-coloured ear.

“I’m guessing in all those books you read, all those stories you heard, you never imagined that a journey could just be a cool breeze, Kid.” She again said nonchalantly.

“I’m not a ‘Kid’.” Podds snapped.

“You act like one.” She snickered.”Like a kid in a candy shop, seeing life for the first time.”

At least she was in a better mood, he thought while looking at Molar who was sleeping on a patch of water lilies which had been scooped up during their ride. Okurro seemed to be compassionate, if only for the right price, but he wondered if it had done this for Molar on purpose.

“You hungry?” Podds suddenly asked with a tint of hesitation.

“Rapsel beans!” Micaela exclaimed while snatching the bag.

“I haven’t had these in ages-”

Before he could make a sarcastic remark they were flung forwards suddenly as Okurro came to a screeching halt, skidding through the marshes causing what seemed like a tidal wave leaving the scent of crisp broken branches in the foggy air.

Podds had managed to break Molar’s fall with his hands but the treeline that they had smashed through had pierced his side severely.

“Micaela!” He shouted through the hardly visible murk.

 “Behind…” Okurro managed to croak from an unknown distance as Podds was again swept off his feet, slamming into the carved stone grounds beneath him hard with a panting Micaela mere centimeters above him.

“Blood… Good.” She smiled before pushing the wooden shrapnel deeper into his wound causing him to scream but the sound wasn’t enough to pierce the veil of the mist surrounding them, he was open & alone with what could only be his doom.

“I’m glad I didn’t have to let you bleed myself, you gave me your Rapsel beans after all, maybe I should be half as generous.”

She suddenly turned to the sound of scittering, a chance I would be foolish not to take as I tore out the piece inside of me, gritting through the pain before slashing her with it.

“You dumb kid!” She snapped while stumbling back as I got to my feet.

“Now I’m really going to make it hurt.”

Her cheek had been almost torn open by the bloodied stick’s impact, some of her skin only hanging on by threads like a worn out & battered guitar.

He backed up into something leathery which made him jump but it was only Okurro, still breathing but worn out & collapsed with a strange tint in its eyes.

It was at this point that Podds noticed the vial again on Micaela’s bracelet, only now it had been drained from whatever liquid had inhabited it.

“You poisoned the water snake?” Podds noted, figuring it out while limping slightly, scanning his surroundings for any signs of his companion.

“I already knew the way.” She admitted. “I only needed to get you here faster.”

They were circling each other now as more light came down into the area, revealing more overgrown markings across the rock formations.

Here… Of course, he thought, looking as far as his eyes would let him.

This had to be ‘The Chasm of Azriel’.

“Seems drastic.” He commented trying to buy himself some more time.

“Blood of an innocent.” She muttered.

“The only way to access the chasm, and in turn, find the Savoir.”

In one swift motion, Micaela was now brandishing a pulsing, purple-edged axe, Podds couldn’t even guess where she could’ve been hiding that.

“I’m flattered you picked me but I haven’t even thanked you for this rollercoaster of a journey so far. Guess I’m not as polite as you though-”

She didn’t bother to push her silver back now as she lunged forwards with a vengeance, poised on injuring me even further.

Podds ducked but the pain in his side caused him to stumble of balance, leaning back into what seemed like the entrance to an ancient temple.

The second strike was slower but it still clipped the wall, sending shards flying as Podds rolled for cover.

“The valley’s been empty for a while, Kid. You’re my best bet, don’t take it personally.”

She grunted but it was obvious she was almost out of breath.

Podds figured it was now or never.

Third time’s the charm, he thought hesitantly as she went for another swing only this time he charged at her too, thinking it was the only thing left he could do when-

Podds realised too late that the blade was pointed high enough to take his head clean off but instead it hit something else.

The sound was deafening as Micaela dropped the weapon & fell to her knees.

The realisation hadn’t hit Podds yet until he saw his companion squirming on the ground with a deep gash in his black fur after having jumped between them.

“Molar!” Podds croaked in anguish, scooping the mole up onto his shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to- It was only supposed to be you!” Micaela snapped with tears in her eyes.

“All you had to do was ask.” He replied softly causing her to look up from bawling into her hands, right as Podds brought the end of the axe down onto her face.

“Why… Kill…” Okorru said as the mist starting to clear slightly around him.

“Guess I’m not that innocent.”

“Where… Going…”

Podds was getting sick of the questions now as he snatched up Micaela’s bracelet vial, dripping his own blood into it.

“To find that Savoir, to ask it how to save my friend.” He declared fiercely.

“That… Rodent…”

“His name’s Molar.”

The Blame Game 🫐

"This one’s on me, guys. I messed up.” Kaelith sighed, his unconvincing words echoing through the solemnly lit chamber, it seemed quite reflective of how he was feeling.

*CLANG*

“You couldn’t have known it was a trap-” Caetlin started, her eyes like emeralds, but something was about to snap, as if it was held together with strings suffering from seperation anxiety.

*CLANG*

“Was it a trap, though?” Kaelith said fiercely.

“It’s not your fault-” Her words were sweet but not enough.

“No! Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s hers!” Cantrium didn’t seem shocked to see the frustrated ‘captain’ of their merry crew take it out on her; er, he instead folded her black furry wings and sank to her knees.

“Thanks, Kaelith.” She noted.

*CLANK*

“And would you stop that?” Kaelith roared. This time it was aimed at Spire, his best friend, who had his head against the corner of the cell made of a strange alien metal.

“I find it soothing, nothing really eases the mind like a repetitive attempt at a lobotomy.” Cantrium said under her breath before continuing to lick her black arms, her whiskers sticking out curiously.

*CLANK*

Spire stood up on his hind legs. “And if I don’t stop? What are you going to do about it? You’re acting like a stranger, man." His best friend had a point, but Kaelith didn't feel like backing down. You know what, no. The only one making a mistake here is-

“Don’t start that with me, Spire! Somehow you’re always defending her!” He huffed.

“Tell him, Caetlin.” He had crossed his arms now, ready for his girlfriend to take his side.

“He’s not wrong, Kae. You’re all over the place.” Caetlin even let go of his hand now as she instead moved towards the otherside of the lockup, noting the irregular scent of burnt pizza before turning towards Cantrium, who was suddenly looking right at her with those cat-like eyes.

“Guess your boyfriend doesn’t like outsiders, huh?” There was a bitter taste entangled in her words, a hint of saltiness & disdain.

“Would you believe it if I told you he was one once?” Caetlin replied with a thin smile.

“We all were.” Spire chimed in, using his small paws to climb up Caetlin’s armour, gaining access to the bare skin of her shoulder but politely retracting his talons.

The bird-chinchilla-like critter was really something to see.

*CLANG*

All three of them turned to see Kaelith doing the same thing Spire was doing now, banging his head on the wall as some kind of beacon, maybe come up with an escape route.

“He’ll come around.” Caetlin assured Cantrium while backing against the foggy windows.

“I just don’t know how I can prove that I want to be one of you guys too.” Spire nodded as he thought of what to reply to Cantrium’s words. They were sad in a way, relatable even.

“We just haven’t known you for so long, distrust isn’t just a river in Egypt.” He said, assuringly.

“Denial.” Caetlin added.

“I don’t think Kaelith’s reached that stage of grief yet; the loss of an ego battle is mighty.” Spire replied swiftly, using his back leg to scratch his ear.

“No, in Egypt. It’s called the Nile.” Caetlin tutted.

“No idea, never been.”

*CLANG*

“How’s the escape plan coming along, Numbnuts?” Spire growled to the far side of the room.

“Before we turn to burnt pizza,” Caetlin whispered.

“What?!” Cantrium exclaimed, an obvious hint of fear in her trembling voice.

“Why don’t you help me find a clue then, Scooby?” Kaelith fired back with a smirk.

“Pipsqueak.” Kaelith added; he seemed to be enjoying making the small creature agitated.

“Crash dummy.” Caetlin shot Cantrium, looking as the two went at it.

They were getting closer now.

“Boys.” Caetlin demanded.

“Oh, no.” Cantrium sighed.

“Oh, yeah.” Kaelith growled right as Spire pounced on him with a brisk jump off the wall. Caetlin was unsure if she should get in between.

“Maybe your new best friend knows a way out.” Kaelith snarled before flinging Spire off of him.

*CLANK*

The furball hit the metal ground but was right back up again for a second strike.

“Kids these days, am I right?” Caetlin said nervously to Cantrium, who started to seem very uncomfortable. The two best friends were now pressed against the wall as their faces were smudged, trying to lunge at each other with everything they had.

Cantrium had stood up straight now, too, watching them go at it from afar.

“Do they do this often?” She asked, unsurely.

“Why do I even put up with a tiny pest like you!” Kaelith hissed with frustration.

“Afraid so.” Caetlin commented with a smile. She somehow cherished moments like these, knowing they would make up as quickly as they fell out.

“And you just let him get away with speaking to you like that? Ungrateful, if you ask me.” Cantrium said.

“What do you mean?” She replied without turning, an oversight maybe, when looking back on it.

“I mean, sometimes you only appreciate someone after they’re gone.” The scuffle in front of Caetlin suddenly went muffled as she heard Cantrium say these words.

“What do you-” It was too late to turn now, and it seemed like Caetlin wouldn't be able to look back on all of this at all.

*SLICE*

Not after the damage Cantrium’s did to her middle, piercing through her most vital of places with a concealed blade. Her angelic form took on a new one of deception, relentlessly so.

“Caetlin?” Spire and Kaelith asked almost in unison, rushing to her collapsing body as a deafening silence overtook the moment.

*CLANG*

She hit the ground hard.

“Looks like you were right, Kaelith.” Cantrium noted, crawling out of sight as the two best friends cradled Caetlin’s bleeding frame.

“But at … what cost?” She asked. Kaelith looked back, puffy, tears stinging his eyes.

“What do you-” The same last words as Caetlin, maybe they weren’t so different after all...

I Like My Fate Shattered ⌚️

Every movement could’ve been a giveaway as Thomas took his time, still panting softly as he tried to catch his breath, but it always seemed one step ahead.

The old and dusty floorboards creaked with surreal respite as he started to realise, he was going to need any fuel he could gather for what was coming, any kind of stamina, any kind of will to get out of this godforsaken theatre.

But it wasn't just about getting out.

The wood spoke, whispering with a creak that didn't come from any of Thomas' steps but instead was conjured from the next room.

Sawyer had finally caught up.

It almost felt like checkmate as he rattled the doorknob just to find it, unsurprisingly, locked. Thomas felt like he was being boxed in, like a rat in a bucket, only now the heat was rising fast, and the tension could be cut with a-

The sound of a knife cutting through cloth seemed to break the brown-eyed boy's concentration as he peered through the closest doorway into a room he hadn't yet seen.

The time had come; as of now, he needed to use any kind of move he had left to face what had been taunting Thomas and his friends for so long.

The haunting history of their town, their friendships, their blood, along with the many victims of Sawyer, all came down to them.

If he were honest, he never liked the guy; he was too stuck up and too stuck on Thomas' ex-girlfriend, but she would come running back to him once the truth came out.

He slipped through the next door to see plastic sheets everywhere covering things of all shapes and sizes, with a heap of fabrics all cut up. Sawyer had just been here, but why?

A music room? Thomas had thought at first, but the silhouettes were vaguely too thin, too eerily elongated and dropping at times as the crooked curvatures overlapped. His head had started to ache in the meantime, a primal beat of exhaustion.

A quick turn wasn’t enough to catch what had made a certain clicking noise.

Light was like a gift as the rusty chandelier above flickered with all its might, but there seemed to still be no one here but Thomas.

It smelled different here than in the corridor outside as he dared to take another step to accompany his growing paranoia, the scent of old and historic rot was the least of his worries.

A draft was moving the torn and string end of a dusty tarp as another clicking sound could be heard.

Thomas spun round to see one of the larger objects on the far side of the room, but just as the young man thought of turning again in case, he was wrong-

There was a tap, not one you would hear in everyday goings-on, or like a tap you would hear in the background, but instead it was one you would hear once, and never forget; it was a sound you feared.

Because it was the calling card of Sawyer, the Grendell Killer.

The infamous sound was indistinguishable, and it pierced Thomas alongside every nerve in his frail body.

But the worst part was, it was coming from whatever was covered.

He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but reality finally struck, that old kid he used to know from school was gone, now only the Grendell Killer remained, in this room, with a knife and a lighter, Thomas's lighter.

“You coming out?”

He asked bravely, but the words fell flat, tearing away any confident advantage he had, nervously anticipating the reply from the concealed butcher.

“Or how are we doing this?”

Thomas asked again, accompanied by a fearful sigh that seeped down his spine with every chilling moment that followed, attacking every crevice along his skin.

Damn it, Blue would know what to say, he thought, thinking about the girl he had fallen in love with as of late, hoping this would give him power, but all he wanted to do was go and enjoy himself with her again, go play tennis or something like they used to.

But they couldn't.

Because Sawyer had murdered her in cold blood, coating the path that led him here.

“You look tired.”

The usually threatening, scratchy voice announced, slightly muffled but with a strange sense of compassion attached to its choice of words.

“Oh, I-“ Thomas kept his guard up while checking his surroundings again just to be sure, just for one last boot into the gravity of what was going to go down, a way in with no out, they were dancing in Pandora's box now.

“I’ll sleep just fine after this.”

He added before finally letting his fingers trail across the tennis racket strapped around his back.

“I don't think you have ever slept... Fine, Thomas.”

The position of the killer was all but certain now as the truth crept closer with another click of the lighter.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Thomas muttered, suddenly feeling the cold from the draft but choosing to focus on his other senses instead.

“Because I don’t... Vessels do not. My victims... Do not.”

Thomas' eyes widened at the statement while feeling something inside him boil.

“Funny... How don’t you protest?”

He didn't reply while taking another daring step forward with a slight shake of the head, a bead of sweat connected with his brow as he stepped relentlessly closer to the boy who had caused him so much pain; he was shaking now.

“Speak again, I’m almost with you.” He snapped at the scratchy and broken voice coming from ahead, starting to recognise the shape from under the stained plastic sheet.

“First, you must take a look at the real you.”

The Grendell Killer declared from a sudden new direction with a much clearer filter, but Thomas had already ripped off the metaphorical and literal band aid, almost stumbling backwards as the veil fell and a broken mirror was revealed in an unusual shape before him.

As soon as the reflection of the phonographic mask entered the corner of the mirror's edge, he reacted but missed, instead slipping clumsily.

Something made of glass had already taken him by surprise as the shards fell down his face with malice.

Thomas tasted blood while rolling sideways, knocking down the reflector, but only ended up staring back at his own face through the cracks as he found himself squirming through the remains of a crooked harp, lonely and torn apart.

Thomas' head fell against an old, tatty portrait of some kind of bear; it seemed ancient, but it was then and there that he decided he would take it with him when this was all over, and he would hang it up just for her.

Thomas made a mental note while trying to keep his own blood from gushing, feeling for the damage, and suddenly gaining the sinking feeling that he might be in over his head here.

"I really shouldn't have skipped first aid class."

Thomas mumbled, as if he could only wade around before breaking to shore without a sure plan of what to do next but running didn’t sound like him.

Not only that, but it seemed the Killer wasn’t looking for an exit either, as their newly swapped positions in the cobweb-filled room started to culminate in how the cycle had begun as Thomas hid behind the large, crooked mirror, nudging the painting aside as it fell flat on its face...

He waited eagerly for his approach.

“How does it feel, Thomas?

To look but not even see the truth, the irony of that fire in your step.

The aching feeling that you deserve to live... normally. To breathe, like us.

How quickly would your world cave when pressed hard enough, when forced to break? Do you see yourself?

Truly, do you?”

Thomas digested the fierce words that the creaky voice spoke, burning with some kind of envy he just didn’t understand. It hurt him to place the face of his old friend under that rusty old theatre mask.

"I was once-"

"Do you always talk this much?"

Thomas growled, interrupting his speech as he finally emerged from his coverings to look at the masked boy standing opposed to him.

"Then again, you always did go on for ages during class presentations. I slept pretty well during those; I can tell you that for free."

There was a silence that arose across the dusty room like a mist, spreading through both of them as they took a breath.

"Blue sleeps now, too, Thomas. So very deep."

Before Sawyer could even click the lighter, another flip had been switched, Thomas had charged at him at full speed, knocking the knife and item from his grip while pulling on the Killer's blonde hair sticking out from under the mask.

"Don't test your own fate, Thomas."

Sawyer panted while straining his hand, reaching for the weapon.

“W-When did this become all about me?” He pleaded in return, but still somehow knew what the Killer’s answer would be.

Thomas then lost the upper hand as a wicked double-kick to his middle left him folded, but the final push sent him through the weak wall, plaster tore apart in clouds of dust, before he found himself in another room that had been sealed off.

Thomas crawled to his feet but found himself alone again.

Now, what was this room? He thought while scanning the broken prayer benches and noting the candles made up some kind of a shrine, the walls were also full of newspaper clippings and stuck-together articles.

There were no mirrors in her which was a plus, as Thomas was getting pretty sick of them already.

'Young local saves elderly woman from fire.'

One of the headlines read, and he didn't even have to look at the torn-up picture to know it was about him; he was the talk of the town once, was that why Sawyer was doing all of this?

Parading around in a blended comedy-tragedy mask as if he were the phantom of the opera because of jealousy?

It lacked motive, and it lacked true, raw conviction. It was lucky he had binge-watched so much true crime with Blue because if he hadn't, this might've all looked too simple.

"Is this what it's all about?"

Thomas scowled into the emptiness, tearing off one leaflet and crumpling it.

"Why did you save her, Thomas?"

The creaky voice demanded as it reappeared behind him.

"Take off that goddamn mask."

Sawyer complied, creeping closer.

"Why did I save her, huh? You mean, why didn't I save your baby brother-"

Thomas snapped, but Sawyer had already rushed him as they both slammed into the desk.

"You coward! At least I did something, at least I saved someone."

Thomas gasped, suddenly feeling like those were his last words as he felt the knife jab into his side, causing him to keel over.

He suddenly felt the lighter being tossed next to his crumpled body as Sawyer stood over him.

"My brother had his entire life ahead of him! That old bat was one foot in the casket, and I took great pleasure in knocking her off balance."

Thomas couldn't comprehend his words as he groaned at the literal thorn in his side, the pain was burning.

"She-She died of smoke inhalation days after the fire-"

He stumbled.

"No, Thomas. I killed her, just like I killed all the others, just like I killed Blue."

Sawyer said fiercely, taunting him with a kick as the boy reached out a hand.

"Pick up that lighter, Thomas. I've already turned the gas on. If you, by some miracle, make it out of this room, the inhalation will kill you, slowly. Or you can flick that lighter and go up in flames like my brother, choice is yours-"

Sawyer coughed, verifying his threat, and shattering the last thing that Thomas still thought he had left, a choice…

The Bane of Your Ignorance 🎱

Winter came at a price for Moon; he wasn’t used to the temperature or the way frost splintered its way past the dawn unto his windowpane, shading his apartment in shattered lights of orange, if only the colour reminding him of a previous season containing some kind of warmth. But this, this was the last thing on Moon’s mind as he waddled through the penthouse residence, his fins interconnecting behind his back as even now, beads of sweat chose to form around his worried brow. Even the elegance and modernity of his home seemed to trouble him, the black & white monochrome sink sitting below a reflection of himself, even if he wasn't tall enough to get the full picture. Moon's fins dove under the running water as the sound of the rush blocked his thoughts, if only for a moment. While splashing some of it over his face & beak, he started to think of how he had gotten to the position in which he found himself in now, knowing that even after all this, he was still afraid. He was still scared after seeing other animals like him burn, creatures of the night disappear due to man-made cruelty & the beasts that dared stick around during daybreak be captured, locked behind bars for entertainment. Moon was still scared after seeing one of his only friends die, pierced by a hunting arrow in the woods he had recently escaped from, he still remembered the tears that stained his face when the emergency shelter refused to let them in. But most of all, he had grown fearful of the way his mentor had recently abandoned him, left him well & truly alone to face the horrors this city held, the burden that was living on this doomed world. Wealth wasn't enough, resources didn't even come close to quenching his thirst for reckoning, but now that the mantle had been passed down to him, it was time to settle on who would pay. Who would suffer like his kind had done for so long, or rather... Who was to blame?

He turned off the tap to look at himself once more, the fur on his face damp & dripping as his facial expression turned to one of determination instead of desperation. "Who isn't to blame?" He scowled, turning towards the living room while grabbing a towel with an embroidered penguin on it, laughing at him. As Moon rummaged through his collection of magazines, he noticed something, someone who had been on the back of his mind.

"...Declan Wilson, the current CEO of Omnisynthos, gears up for another season of protecting the city of New Neyton while implementing his regulations on anti-crime and talks of his upcoming wildlife program, determined to put our great metropolis on the map..."

He read aloud, muttering before tossing the articles aside to stare out at the busy streets again, even from this high up, he could see the billboards with Declan's face on it, smirking at Moon with his crooked nose & polychrome suit from afar.

"Hello, neighbour." 

As if Moon had known the answer all along, he grabbed his dark jacket & headed for the door, concealing a smirk of his own beneath a greyscale scarf. Time to act on the reason I bought this place, he thought before crossing the corridor into the staircase & heading into a new hall where a security team stood at the ready.

"Stand b-"

They were not prepared for the sparks as the sudden jolt of electricity fried the tight space between apartments, causing the woman in full protective gear to falter & collapse along with her squad of darkly armoured recruits.

"I like the colour schemes." Moon tutted before hopping over the unconscious bodies, tucking away the device responsible for the carnage while re-applying his game face.

*KNOCK* *KNOCK* *KNOCK*

"It's open." A stern voice replied.

An unexpected reaction, Moon thought while cautiously easing open the door with a hop to reach the handle.

"Eight-thirty in the morning on a Sunday," Declan stated, he was leaning out of his window with a polished glass of Red-Vodka & a pipe.

"Must be four o'clock somewhere." Moon snapped in response, approaching with an eerie sense of vigour.

"Five is actually the saying." The businessman replied, still without turning.

"I'll give you six seconds before I fry your brains out, Mr. Wilson."

There was a pause as the only sound was the man placing his glass down on the ledge.

"I'm guessing you're not here for some sugar?" He asked. "Then again, Penguins can't taste sweetness, can they?"

Moon decided to let the tall man get his jokes out of the way.

"They usually can't talk either, but here I am."

Declan considered his words.

"Here you are." He replied while finally turning to look at him. "So what now?"

"Did you know that the world is experiencing a sixth mass extinction event? With 500 species on the brink of-"

Declan's grin faded, but he still chose to interrupt the small bird.

"I'm guessing you found this on the internet? What did you use? Let me guess, Linux?"

It seemed to be Declan's final joke as he collapsed, clutching at his throat.

"A late happy birthday, Mr. Wilson. You should really check your bottled gifts before usage. Now, where were we... Extinction. Scared yet? So was I."

So... Was... I.

Untitled

“Clam.”

He coughed solemnly, knowing that time was closing in on them both.
That’s right, ol’ Ellis boy, he told himself, you might have just kicked your last bucket yet.

“Clementine I- Now I know you can hear me back there, I just don’t know if you want to, but- I do gotta tell you something, I do.”

There was sand in every place but his palms, they were constricted while wood dug into his back & a soft breeze kissed his sunburnt neck.

If only he had been wearing her hat today; maybe that would’ve saved him a whole lot more pain than what he had to say next. Instead, he had been running around without his all day like a headless chicken. But he’d make sure he got his own back from ol’ Joseph boy, yes sir, he would reclaim his property.

“Fine then.”

As much as he struggled, the only view he could get of her, the only thing the unholy stretch of his neck could gift him was her black hair, wavering as it taunted him like the reins of a mare he had seen once before, if only too afraid to ride, for who had he become, sitting in the shade instead of walking on over & getting his boots dirty in the wild side?

“I’m not me.”

Clementine’s head still didn’t turn from beyond the large barrel they were tied to, as the buckles of rust glimmered in the sun like they were trying to catch a tan.

“I’m not, Clam. If you even knew half of the man I used to be, you’d- You’d be running to the nearest town, far away from me, and hell, you’d be right to. Maybe we’d not even be in this here predicament right now. Maybe not, no.”

Her silence persisted as he took a deep breath.

“I’m tryna tell ya that I’d fight for ya. Even after I said I’d never fight for no one again, no sir, not for anyone I think I’d- I know I’d- Now I don’t know much, missy. I done told you that before, but I know this here; that burning trail to hell don’t scare me half so bad, not if I’m walkin’ it besides you.”

A clap of thunder from beyond the canyon walls was like a beacon, a signal that Joseph should make himself known.

“What a lovely sentiment, Carpetbagger.”

He twisted the words on his tongue before spitting them out & approaching the tied-up man, an orange allure from the erosion splitting half of his stubbled face along with a thin shadow stemming from the brim of his newly acquired fedora, things were finally in their place.

“You’ll get no ring from me, you freckled fuck.”

Ellis seemed to chuckle along with his statement, as if there was much to be amused about his current situation. The noise of the ongoing weather had started to crowd the empty walls of rock as Joseph wondered how many rivers would flow from this sudden outburst in the clouds, and how quickly they would dry up again once Mother Nature decided it so. It reminded him of home.

“You know what I like about the rain?”

He asked sincerely, stepping closer to the hatless man & the barely conscious woman who had been straddling his mind for so long, like a wrangler who just never knows when to quit.

“That if it falls hard enough, I might not hear your hollerin’.”

Ellis snapped as Joseph got down closer to inspect him, this time it was him who laughed.

“No.”

Their faces were bowed together now, with nobody seemingly in a rush to blink, only dry, narrowed eyes persisted in bringing out the worst in eachother, a standoff of the senses, only clouded by Joseph’s waxed moustache, it be comical, but it wasn’t.

“I like the unpredictability of rain, how it can roll into town like tumbleweed and be gone the next hour leaving only a splash of evidence that it even showed its sorry little face. A bit like our Clam, no?”

Joseph broke their nimble chain of tension by standing up again while kicking the dirt off of his boot, an effort that left Ellis pulling even harder at his fetters.

“Now that’s more like you, Porter. More like the one I heard of, maybe even the one you were talking about so bittersweetly just now. I did some digging, like we all have these days of course, and it just intrigued me of how easy it would be to let a coyote like you out of the-”

Ellis was grinning again, a surprising turn in their conversation, seemingly hitting a nerve that stopped Joseph in his tracks as he fiddled with his cuff-links, a nervous tick he didn’t do well in hiding, even if he had walked out of the bound-man’s view.

“You don’t care about me, sport. Hell, you don’t even care about Clementine.”

The dandy man didn’t look so hot as he looked to the rainfall instead of the man speaking, mumbling something but refraining from interrupting.

“Maybe you did once.”

The cowboy agreed, turning his head as far as he could.

“What I did or did not do doesn’t concern you, but there was a time when I couldn’t place a gold coin above her, and I like to think she felt the same.”

Another clap of thunder made itself known, further away this time as a silent echo slipped through the canyon.

“Seems like the coins got heavy, don’t need a rainy day for that excuse.”

Ellis snapped, preying on the rare moment of sentiment.

“Do you know what the rain sounds like when the bank is taking your house, Porter? Or maybe the way Clementine’s parents looked at me when they called off our marriage, when they called me a pauper as my father bathed in financial ruin. You start to watch as it trickles down in front of you, a castle made of sand, our castle, crumbling. So no, I don’t care for any of you, but you will deliver me to retribution.”

Clementine groaned as she moved softly, her eyes only fluttering with confusion.

“Then how about you take these here ropes off and i’ll see what I can do for you.”

Joseph nodded at Ellis’ request, cautiously stepping over into a crouch before revealing a flickknife with a silver eagle etched into its wooden casing.

“Don’t do it, Ellis- He won’t play fair, you don’t have to prove-”

The ropes fell as Joseph backed up, the weapon still in his hand.

“I hope Ned will forgive me for this.”

Ellis grumbled getting to his feet while shaking off the stiffness.

“You’ll grant me his papers on the land, if I win.”

Joseph said, breathing through his mouth with a glinstering want in his iris, a need even, the man was hungry for a triumph, like the kings of old, in his world of new, oil would have a new colour, printed in his name.

“I’ll get you them.”

Ellis muttered while rolling up his sleeves.

“They’re not yours to give.”

Clementine’s words stung truely, petrifyingly so.

“You’re gonna’ have to trust me on this one, Clam.”

She shook her head, thinking about everything she really knew about the man before her iris darted to Joseph.

“He can’t fight, he won’t!”

Clementine exclaimed, slowly getting up from her loose restraints as the rainfall started to reach its peak, amplifying the scene around them.

“It’s come to my attention that he will for you.”

Joseph snarled, which earned Ellis another fierce look, melting the distance between them as they got even closer.

“So what’ll it be, Ellis the kid?”

His blade glimmered in the hidden rays of the darkened sun, waving against the tides of their duel, endlessly waiting for a taste.

“You’re all hat and no cattle, Freckles.”

Clementine watched him speak the words as his fists twitched with an unclenched fury.

“My hat.”

As soon it left his lips he was off, skidding across the sand as he tackled Joseph who took his chance with the knife, swiping him across the chin as they both collided with the damp ground.

Joseph' next hit was swift, skimming Ellis' jaw with his fist curled up like an iron, the bone twinging in its power.

The cowboy stumbled but he didn't falter, spitting out a flame of blood which stained the canyon ground in its light.

Clementine was circling them in the meantime as they got dangerously close to the edge, unsure of what to do but unable to take her eyes off of the scuffle.

It was then that she decided to play her part, rushing over to Joseph's magnificent prized steed, 'Meridian', she was the colour of a black sunset with all the glow of a pale moon, the mare shuddered at her touch.

Meanwhile, Joseph was on the ground now, the jean fabrics of his trousers tearing in the dust as Ellis charged up another punch, only to br blocked by the lanky man's crossed arms.

This was the last that Clementine saw as she climbed up Meridian, giving her a trustful stroke on her hair before lightly kicking her into gear as they took off, leaving the men behind, time was of the essence but she couldn't yet determine how long it would be before theirs ran out.

As the horse galloped out, leaving a pattern of echoes, Ellis tried to grab his hat back but was rewarded with a stern kick to the stomach making him topple over.

“Bring it cowboy-”

Star Wars: The Clone Wars 🖲️

Obi-Wan Kenobi closed his eyes, not to dream but to savour the opposite, imagining a world inbetween time, separated from the force, the order, everything. A place where Duchess Satine hadn’t just been killed in front of his eyes.

“Wait.”

Darth Maul growled at his guards, his dark smirk bathing in the idea of Kenobi’s suffering, finally seeing it realised, like a desert kissing the rain, pure, unfiltered satisfaction.

The Jedi’s hands were shaking now as they held the love of his life, a bond that could never blossom due to the order, even if he had told her he would’ve left it in a heartbeat, what did it matter now?

Her blonde hair had turned crimson as she bled through his fingers, slipping away with each moment that lingered on and on, biting at Obi Wan’s patience.

“How much does it hurt?”

Maul asked savagely, attempting to break whatever hope he had left.

“Don’t keep us waiting-”

*BANG*

The dark lord’s words were interrupted by a heavy slam into the alien metal next to Kenobi, right as he opened his eyes with malice unlike ever seen before in the peacekeeper.

“However much I ache, your will be greater.”

He said as all the colour drained from his rough expression, gently laying Satine down as he arose.

“Malice.”

Maul commented, pushing his dark robe past his hips.

“A trait I have not foreseen in you before, Kenobi.”

The tension could’ve been cut with-

*HUM*

A sabre ignited, the red kyber-crystal inside of it ionized as an unrelenting heat came off of it.

“Get him his weapon.”

Maul demanded as the second blade of his own was unleashed, tantalising the yellow tints of anger in Kenobi’s eyes as he approached.

The worn out man caught it in his still-tremling hands, preparing for a wrath he had never anticipated facing in his whole career as a Jedi Master.

“Let it out, Kenobi. Show me what lurks in your shadows.”

The Jedi took a breath as his own blade crossed that of Sith lord’s, shaking off the anger that threatened to engulf him completely.

Maybe one day hate would win, maybe one day it would take over.

“Or would you rather keep it civilised, Kenobi?”

But not today.

“I thought you would never ask.”

The sabres clashed in a tense display of blue and red in a vibrating unison of light, reflected only by a road of pain and justice, that only ended where the latter began…

Buy yourself out of this one! 🪽

[Out of breath almost with excitement as Norman suddenly has an announcement that shatters their previous conversation]

• "Cobe, you will not believe this." 

[Norman says, excited but still has a cold feel to it]

• "Brooo, now you've really peagd my interes-"

[Cobe replies, fully invested in his friend's opening of a discussion, already weighing his own world views while he sits on the gym-bench]

• "It's 'peaked' my interest, honestly, it's like minute details have lost all sense of worth these days."

[Norman says clinically, almost going off topic even though he started it]

• "Whatever you say bro, but just get to the point, overexamining things just means you're nervous, you gotta have strength in your feelings, bro."

[Cobe reads him like a book, using emotional intelligence to get a feeling of what he is trying to express as Norman hides behind a designer coat]

• "I'm in love, Cobe, I never thought I'd see the day."

[He pauses with an uncharacteristic sigh, pointing to the fact that he may have actually fallen..]

• "In love with which expensive brand? You know expression comes from what you push out your body, bro. Not from what you wear on it!"

[A sweaty Cobe interjects while projecting another form of emotional contingency, trying to understand Norman but assuming he will be like he always is, still leaving room for the possibility that he might have changed his ways]

• "It's a woman actually! So of course price matters."

[Norman says sternly which causes Cobe to gasp as if he had never ever expected him to say something like this]

• "Isn't your soothing British voice enough, bro? Should the heart really cost that much?"

[Cobe says, still trying to defend his friend with a compliment while doubting his true intentions & the true worth of his financial choices which in the past, have always clashed]

• "I would say a heart is worth a lot, yes, but the woman I was talking about is actually Vivienne Westwood."

[Norman says which Cobe finds funny at first but then backs down, almost glad that his friend hasn't changed, it's a warm feeling that they can agree on]

• "The fashion brand, bro? I knew it was too good to be true, but the heart wants want it wants."

• "My heart wants to spend some money."

• "Can't argue with that, bro."

[A loud beep can be heard in the store where Norman is at as he swipes his card while still on the video call, the scene fades the cashier says his card has declined, leaving the ending open for potential character development in Norman where he goes broke & can't afford the expensive things he talks about anymore..]